


Boy Scout

by 50251sid



Category: The Borgias, The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gen, Older Woman/Younger Man, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-20
Updated: 2013-12-20
Packaged: 2018-01-05 07:17:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1091119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/50251sid/pseuds/50251sid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chance encounter teaches Cesare Borgia some important life lessons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Boy Scout

**Author's Note:**

> In the spirit of the holiday, a little vignette about sharing comfort and joy (and it ain't what you think!)

_“I repeat my former Advice, that in all your Amours you should prefer old Women to young ones. You call this a Paradox, and demand my Reasons. And they are these:_

  1. _Because as they have more Knowledge of the World and their Minds are better stor’d with Observations, their Conversation is more improving and more lastingly agreable._
  2. _Because when Women cease to be handsome, they study to be good. To maintain their Influence over Men, they supply the Diminution of Beauty by an Augmentation of Utility. They learn to do a 1000 Services small and great, and are the most tender and useful of all Friends when you are sick. Thus they continue amiable. And hence there is hardly such a thing to be found as an old Woman who is not a good Woman._
  3. _Because there is no hazard of Children, which irregularly produc’d may be attended with much Inconvenience._
  4. _Because thro’ more Experience, they are more prudent and discreet in conducting an Intrigue to prevent Suspicion. The Commerce with them is therefore safer with regard to your Reputation. And with regard to theirs, if the Affair should happen to be known, considerate People might be rather inclin’d to excuse an old Woman who would kindly take care of a young Man, form his Manners by her good Counsels, and prevent his ruining his Health and Fortune among mercenary Prostitutes._
  5. _Because in every Animal that walks upright, the Deficiency of the Fluids that fill the Muscles appears first in the highest Part: The Face first grows lank and wrinkled; then the Neck; then the Breast and Arms; the lower Parts continuing to the last as plump as ever: So that covering all above with a Basket, and regarding only what is below the Girdle, it is impossible of two Women to know an old from a young one. And as in the dark all Cats are grey, the Pleasure of corporal Enjoyment with an old Woman is at least equal, and frequently superior, every Knack being by Practice capable of Improvement._
  6. _Because the Sin is less. The debauching a Virgin may be her Ruin, and make her for Life unhappy._
  7. _Because the Compunction is less. The having made a young Girl miserable may give you frequent bitter Reflections; none of which can attend the making an old Woman happy._
  8. _8thly and Lastly They are so grateful!!_



_Benjamin Franklin (Letter to a friend dated June 25, 1745)_

 

Cesare Borgia noticed her across the barroom, chair dancing, her feel tapping with frustration, itching to get out on the dance floor.  Her two companions, much younger women, ignored her, chatting away across the tall table. 

The band roared out tune after danceable tune, and there she squirmed, her disappointment palpable. 

Cesare had gone out for the evening with a contingent of his cohorts.  Micheletto Corella, of course.  The Orsini brothers, Colonna and Baglioni, most of them punks but okay for a night of barhopping.  Except for Micheletto, who rarely spoke, the young men yakked inanely, mostly about the ass on this one and the rack on that one and the merits of one beer over another.  And who had gotten laid the most recently.  Cesare had opted out of the conversation, feigning great interest in the foam head on his glass of Heineken, and casting about the club for something more compelling than Baglioni’s tale of a romp with a hooker. 

He found the woman compelling. 

 

_The sun goes down, the stars come out_   
_And all that counts is here and now_   
_My universe will never be the same_   
_I’m glad you came, I’m glad you came…_

She was not young, hadn’t been young in many a year, but she oozed vitality and vivacity.  She reminded him of a racehorse harnessed to a covered wagon, restless and desperate to shed the trappings and go charging away.  She wore flat metallic sandals and a dark dress that ended just above her knees, revealing long vertical scars of the type he had previously seen from his grandfather’s knee replacement surgery.  Her hair was bobbed and almost entirely silver, but with a pretty undertone of dark charcoal.  She had a tattoo of a crescent moon on the back of her neck.

Why he felt drawn to her he wasn’t sure, but he _was_ drawn to her.  Perhaps he recognized a kindred spirit, someone like him who was bound by convention and expectation and was finding the bindings galling.  Dad’s dutiful son.  Lucrezia’s virtuously loving brother.  Relentlessly pushing down his own desires and aspirations until he didn’t even know if he had them anymore.  Plodding though his life as frustrated and dissatisfied as she obviously was, wiggling on her tall barstool and kicking her toes against the floor. 

A loud burst of guffawing behind him brought him back to the here and now.  Colonna was pretty well along in getting wasted, and Baglioni wasn’t far behind.  Shit.  Baglioni was a bad drunk, a mean drunk.  Cesare and Micheletto were going to have to babysit him this evening to keep him out of trouble. 

The woman suddenly stood up, ignoring the dismay on the face of her companion, the one who looked like her, and walked over to a pair of young women dancing together.  She appeared to be asking to join them and then she began to move. 

Son of a bitch!

A tornado had been unleashed.  A cyclone.  A tsunami. 

Cesare’s eyes widened in amazement.  He glanced over at the woman’s companions and saw that one of them, the one who looked like her, had put her head in her hands.  The other one stared.

He watched the woman for a few moments as she danced with an abandon and joie de vivre that was galvanizing to observe.  Her face was radiant as she tossed her silver hair.  Somehow, all the other dancers faded away and she seemed to be in a spotlight all her own, of which she was totally unaware. 

You go, girl!

Without realizing quite what he was doing, Cesare stood and crossed the dance floor to stand behind her.  When she turned in his direction, he began to sway with her.  She blinked, obviously startled by his presence.  Her shy smile was quizzical.  He moved in closer.  Not touching, but closer.  Her face continued to wear an expression of disbelief. 

When the band took a break, the woman went back to her table and Cesare returned to his friends.

“What the fuck, Borgia?”  Colonna was aghast.  “What’s with the old lady?  If you want to be a Boy Scout, help her across the street, not dance with her.”

“She’s having fun.  I am too.  That’s what I came here for.”

“But there’s all this young stuff hanging around.”

“She’s got more life in her than any of them.  Knock it off.  She’s cute.”

When the band resumed, Cesare made a beeline for the woman.  Bafflement gave way to something akin to gratitude in her face.  He put his arms around her waist.  He was surprised by her hands running over his chest.  She was getting bolder.  When he turned his back to her, she cupped his ass.  Now he was the one to register disbelief.  And he laughed with delight.  So did she.

As they moved together, he sang to her a line from the tune currently playing.

“You the hottest bitch in the place!”

He meant it.

Cell phone cameras clicked all around.  They would be appearing on Twitter in a few moments.

Baglioni pushed himself up close behind her to make a crude sandwich of the three of them.  Cesare locked eyes with his boorish companion over the woman’s silver head and jerked his chin, indicating to him to get lost.  He would not have this moment turned into something sordid. 

The band rattled the rafters.

 

_I throw my hands up in the air sometimes_   
_Saying AYO, gotta let go_   
_I wanna celebrate and live my life_   
_Saying AYO, baby, let go…_

Around her eyes were not wrinkles, but laugh lines.  She seemed to draw energy from out of the air as she danced untiringly.  By accident, and he was sure it was by accident, her hand brushed the front of his pants.  She appeared mortified, but only for a moment.  His smile reassured her that all was well.

Her companions, on the other hand, never stopped being mortified.  During another break by the band, the girl who resembled the woman seemed to have convinced her that it was time to leave.  With noticeable reluctance, she slid off her barstool.

 

_Wake me up when it’s all over_   
_When I’m wiser and I’m older_   
_All this time I was finding myself and I_   
_Didn’t know I was lost…_

Cesare followed. 

She turned to face him and started to say “Thank you”, but he bent down and kissed her lips.  Sweetly.  Gently.  Perfectly.

He pressed her hand with his and then let her go. 

Returning to his table, he ruminated on the encounter. 

What an amazing woman.  If she could find it in herself to transcend the conventions and expectations forced upon a lady of mature years and just cut joyously loose, why couldn’t he? 

Indeed, why?

He resolved to pay a visit to Lucrezia in her bedroom as soon as he got home and put an end to the barriers which had kept them apart in spite of their yearnings for each other.  And he would have a nice long talk with Dad in the morning about the goals and plans he had subverted for far too long. 

Had he given the woman anything in return?  He hoped so.  He would have her know that she still had it, still mattered, was still alive and vital and valuable. 

Cesare couldn’t know that, for the rest of her life, she would wear his kiss on her soul.  The mark of Cain or the glowing imprint of Glinda’s lips?


End file.
